You know the truth

You know the truth

the one that stinks under your armpits

the one that hasn’t showered for three days

that is baffling itself within your left brain

that cries on stormy nights

that closes the blinds

to keep the midnight nigh.

You know the truth

when it sparkles mid-conversation

and wakes as if from a delirium

the pain in your neck fleeing

at the prospect of a vacation

the filth on your face

washing away for a slumbering

imaginarium.

You know the truth

when it leaves you again

like all your vivacious acquaintances

when your fort starts to crumble again

and you can’t but hibernate

away from all that you have lived and made

all that you could ever have.

You know the truth

when it bleeds from the cuts on your wrists

when it hovers around your sleeping pills

when it hangs from the ceiling

when it disappears into nothing

unfeeling, cruel and murderous.

Photo by Sasha Freemind on Unsplash

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